


Words for Steve

by ere_the_sun_rises (orphan_account)



Series: Letters to Vick [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers on Vacation, Clint used to wear a mullet, F/M, I need to stop cluttering the tags with nonsense, Lord of the Rings marathons, Marriage Proposal, Pepper is not fooled she knows you get off on science Tony, Romance, Thor is actually Pikachu, Tony makes dirty jokes, Tony/ACDC: forbidden love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ere_the_sun_rises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vick wants to get married. Steve just wants to stay with Vick. Thor wants to learn more about Midgardian history. Jane wants Tony to stop telling Thor that the Lord of the Rings is actual Midgardian history. Clint resents being called a Catholic schoolboy. Somebody (quite a few people, actually) are keeping a rather big secret. And it's all going down on a vacation, two weeks in Malibu with the Avengers and related significant others. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words for Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where it's due- Whedon, Lee, etc.

Steve Rogers wasn’t a words guy.

Vick had learned that, over the course of being with him for almost nine months, and had it really been that long? It had certainly been a long time since she had ever gone that steady with anybody. Somehow, they just fit together in ways neither could really explain, with words or pictures or even those weird mutual feelings that just explained things sometimes.

It felt like something that was destined for a long, happy road.

And of course, not to say Vick’s typed _Mrs. Victoria Rogers_ in a bunch of different fonts, because that would be stupid and girlish, fuck you very much Clint Barton.

But, of course, that’s not to say she _didn’t_ want to be Mrs. Victoria Rogers. She did. A whole lot.

There was just one thing that worried her.

To _be_ Mrs. Victoria Rogers involved words. Never a problem for her. But Steve? He was far from eloquent, and calling him phrasing/vocabulary-challenged was probably a bit on the gentle side, like some old lady teacher who gave her students “You Tried” medals.

Did the Olympics give You Tried medals? She didn’t think so. And the realm of proposing (for her) _was_ the Olympics. Vick had the gold standard. Her father had popped the question to her mother with the help of the entire Naval Academy Drama Department and somehow gotten everyone involved but Ms. Jenna Fitzgerald herself, and the rest was history. If Steve wanted her to be Mrs. Rogers, he was going to have to pull something fantastic.

She was more than a little concerned, on that front. It was like a mind game, because as much as she very desperately wanted to be Mrs. Victoria Rogers she was going to wait until he showed her that he wanted it as much as she did.

 _Maybe I should just propose to him,_ she mused, lounging on his positively _huge_ bed in the tower, languid, legs thrown carelessly over one another. Vick sighed, looking forward to the spring, just a few weeks away. A mere fortnight separated her from March, fresh air and new green and the tragically short-lived cherry blossoms, immortalized in Japanese shampoo that had been a birthday present from Natasha.

The door opened, heralding Steve’s return, and she raised her head and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. What did Tony want?”

“I got a proposition,” said Steve, flopping back onto the bed.

Vick sat up, leaned over him and cocked her head, grinning. “I’m listening.”

“Well, the whole gang’s going out to Malibu for the next two weeks,” he said, reaching across and squeezing her hand. “Seeing as Ms. Potts is coming, and…Ms. Foster too, I thought I’d ask you to come along.” He was blushing again, the faint shade of pink that colored his cheeks and made his eyes look baby blue and adorable, and it _really_ wasn’t fair.

“How could I say no?” she breezed, sliding down on her back beside him, leaning over and planting one on his cheek. “Yes, of course I’ll come along. California’s my home territory.”

He sat up, watching her move across the room and swing her bag up onto her shoulder. “You lived there?”

“Born there,” she said, bending to slip her heels on again, giving her the extra boost that still left a whole head and shoulders between her and Steve. “But not in The Valley, thank you very much.” She waggled a finger at him, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Come here and kiss me goodnight, Captain Rogers.”

He bounced up onto the soles of his feet, crossed the room and bent his head, murmuring “yes’m” before obliging her.

“Easy there, soldier,” she murmured, pulling back out when his tongue pressed gently at her lower lip. “I’ve got to go home, remember?”

“I don’t want you to go home,” he pouted at her.

“Don’t cop that face with me, Steven Rogers,” she scolded, turning and heading for the door. “I don’t think I’ve slept in my own bed one night this week.” At that he flushed again, looked to the ground and tried to bite back his sheepish smile. “You’ll manage a night without me,” she whispered, turning to blow one last kiss and head out, knowing out of habit he would reach out and catch it before squishing it to his cheek.

“Thank you, Dr. Banner,” she said, as he helped her into her coat and opened the door for her. As she made her way down the tower and into the cool New York night air, Vick couldn’t help but wonder if this was finally _it_. If he was _planning_ something, with italics.

It certainly didn’t hurt to hope. At least not for now.

* * *

 

            She talked to herself while she packed. That was normal; she’d run through monologues (in character) when she was by herself, whether they be her own or the Bard’s, and who didn’t love a rousing “ _What’s he that wishes so?_ ” while they stuffed clothes into their suitcase?

            “But to be frank, and give it thee again,” she sighed, pulling a scarf about her head and fluttering her eyelashes at the mirror before dropping it in her bag, “And yet I wish but for the thing I have: my bounty is as boundless as the sea…” she twirled over to her clothes tree, selected a tan fedora hat before spinning back and placing it daintily. “My love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

            She paused, sat on the side of her bed and murmured to herself, “I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: and yet I would it were to give again.” Vick rolled onto her side, sighing. _And now I’m just missing the ‘exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine’. That would be your cue, Steve._

            “Maybe I’m just ungrateful,” she muttered, rolling again onto her back and getting up to her feet. “Or impatient. Stark must have rubbed off on me too much.” She paused a moment, before putting on a deep imposing voice, leaning on an invisible sword and muttering “ _Winter is coming._ ”

            Vick ground to a halt, and then smacked a hand to her forehead. “Books, Gatsby, the _books_.” She went to her shelf and appraised her selection before choosing _Dune, A Game of Thrones,_ and _Rhapsody_ and stuffing them in along with her clothes.

            “Books, never forget the books,” she muttered, looking around her room. “Books are important. Books come before food and clothes. Erasmus said so.”

            She nearly forgot deodorant (and really, why does she always forget _that_ of all things), and sat down on her old suitcase to zip it shut, and drag it off to the curb, where Tony said the limo would arrive at eleven a.m. sharp. Vick knew better now than to argue with Tony about riding in a limo, so she just sighed and bit her tongue and smiled and climbed inside.

            “Hey,” she chirped at everyone, once she was settled inside on the plush leather seating with Steve just basically _surrounding_ her because she was so tiny. Vick wriggled forward a bit when she felt her phone buzzing against her back pocket, and pulled it out to catch a message from her agent. “One sec,” she said, tapping the _open_ button and reading over it quickly.

            “What’s happened?” asked Bruce, on her other side, sliding a little closer and peering over his glasses at the words that were blurring together in front of her eyes.

            “Nothing,” she said faintly. “Just a…number one New York Times bestseller…”

            For a moment, silence. Then there was an eruption of applause and there were so many random shakings of hands that were all indiscernible, except for Thor’s because his was so damn powerful it might’ve rattled her teeth a little, and then she sat back and took a few deep breaths, eyeballing the message again before feeling a huge grin stealing over her. “I’m on top.”

            “You know,” said Tony, (and where did he get the cocktail he was pushing on her?) “I think this officially qualifies you for the Science Bros.” He put on a serious face at her. “‘Tis a sacred union, of brothers-” he placed his hand over hers. “Brothers-in-arms, brothers unified by _science_.”

            “I don’t know,” Vick singsonged, leaning back and rolling her eyes. “Can you find it in your hearts to accept a social scientist? A _girl_ psychologist; one of _your_ Science Brothers?”

            “Call yourself an honorary member,” Tony conceded, already fixing more drinks at the minibar. “The Science Threesome just sounds weird. Like we get off on it or something.”

            Pepper coughed suddenly, and ducked her head to hide a fit of the giggles. “For science!” Bruce declared, and Vick tipped her glass before downing it all in one go.

* * *

 

            They met the others at the airport and Jane was coming to the mansion late that night, but Vick had known from the start she wasn’t going to meet her until the next morning.

            “Impatient,” she huffed out a laugh, while Steve tried to unbutton her shirt and his own at the same time, wriggling out of the linen and dropping it on the polished hardwood floors.

            “I’ve been sitting close all day,” he said against her collarbone, dropping trou faster than she’d ever seen him do and crawling up onto the mattress, impatient hands fumbling behind her back.

            “I’m sorry I frustrated you so,” she gave a dramatic sigh, and flopped back, laying her hand over her forehead. “O, good Captain, do have thy way with me!”

            Steve paused and sat up on his heels. “Do what now?”

            Vick giggled at him, drew a leg up around his hips and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Do what you want with me.”

            Steve groaned, wriggled her out of her undies and propped a leg up over his shoulder, kissing the inside of her thigh before pressing his tongue to the very core of her, sucking teasingly and pushing his finger slowly in and out, until she was far north of frustrated and about to scream from being left high and dry so damn long.

            “ _Steven. Rogers_.” She growled, digging her heels into his shoulders, not like it would hurt him.

            “You told me to have my way with you,” he said, pulling away, lips shining in a way that made her heart pulse below her waist.

            “Don’t _torture_ me,” she groaned, weaving her fingers into his hair and pulling him forward. He obliged her for once, crawling back up and pressing a kiss onto her lips, hooking her legs up around his hips and pushing slowly inside, groaning softly at the perfect wet heat.

            “Steve,” she whispered, and his fingers reached up and laced into her hair, others interlocking with her own. He moved slow, always so afraid of hurting her because she was so small. Her eyes slid blissfully shut and she murmured softly as he rocked back and forth, kissed her neck and her lips, gently.

            The hand he was holding squeezed slightly, and she whispered, “Oh, Steve, I-” she trailed off then stilled, lips parting in a perfect O as she gave a long series of slightly-vocal sighs, clutching at his shoulder and pulling him in close to her, and once she had ridden out the crest of her pleasure she melted back into the pillows, boneless.

            He nipped lightly at the shell of her ear, stroked his fingers through her hair and fought off the trembling in his thighs until he couldn’t bear it anymore, shivered and slipped down over her, mumbling her name and going limp for a split second, before he realized he was probably smothering her and jumped up, rolling over beside her. “Sorry…”

            “No, come back,” she said, pawing at his shoulder until he rolled tentatively over her, bracing his weight on his forearms and hovering. “ _Down_ ,” she said, tugging on his shoulders until he relented and gently set himself down.

            “I won’t crush you?” he asked, quietly.

            “I like having you here,” she protested, snaking her tiny hands around his huge shoulders and holding him in place, even though she wouldn’t be able to even trouble him if he decided to move. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Steve. You haven’t, and you ever do, you’ll know.”

            In a few minutes Vick drifted off to sleep, her breath fanning hot and moist across his shoulder, but he stayed awake a while longer, trying to work out what she had said.

* * *

 

            Vick was up first the next morning, wearing Steve’s circus tent of a tee shirt (on her, at least) and pouring coffee. The scent would pull everyone out like moths to a flame, so she’d made a big one in preparation.

            “Good morrow,” Vick called when she heard the shuffling behind her, and turned to look when she heard the grumble.

            She didn’t recognize the woman but decided she must have been Jane Foster, as she was wearing a pair of what looked like Thor’s pajamas, the hem trailing maybe a foot behind her ankles. “Is that coffee?” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes and stifling a huge yawn.

            “Yeah,” Vick said, handing her the cup and watching her take a sip. Instantly, she seemed to brighten. She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Jane. I guess you’re Victoria? Thor calls you ‘the Great Scribe,’ so sorry if I got your name wrong.”

            “Just Vick is fine,” Vick said, shaking her hand and turning back to the coffee pot. “Guess it would have been obvious. I mean…” she gestured at the large decal across the front of her shirt, shrugging. “Yeah, I’m here on the Captain’s invitation.”

            “Nice,” Jane said, scooting up onto the minibar. “Do you think he’s _planning_ something?”

            “I only hope,” Vick sighed, turning back with her own cup and picking a seat. “It’s been nine months, yeah…not a lot, I guess, but it feels like we could go forever. I _want_ to, it’s just…yeah.”

            Tony was the next to arrive, muttering _You Shook Me All Night Long_ sluggishly under his breath. He poured himself a mug and joined Vick and Jane at the minibar. “Ah. Science sisterhood.” He puts his head down on the countertop and sighed.

            “Pepper shake you all night long?” Vick remarked, casually.

            “Didn’t stop with the sunrise,” he groaned, cracking a grin with his face smooshed down against the granite.

            Jane and Vick grimaced. “Uh, eew. Too much information.”

            “Hey, you asked.” He finds the energy somewhere to lift his head and stirs his coffee before tossing back half the mug, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

            More shuffling, and Vick turned with raised eyebrow. “Hey there, big guy,” Tony said. Thor, in white t-shirt and boxers, paused, saw his pants on Jane and made a grunt of _so-that’s-where-I-put-them_ before turning to the coffee machine. He contemplated it a moment before extracting the carafe and chugging the whole thing.

            Vick sighed. “I got it,” she said, sliding down, plucking the empty carafe from the thunder god’s hands and going for more water.

            The others drifted in while the second carafe brewed, and Vick found it somewhat odd that Steve was last to emerge. Typically he was up running before the sun, but for whatever reason he’d found it in himself to sleep in this morning. “Morning,” he chirped, not sounding tired in the slightest, stopping by Vick to kiss the top of her head. He didn’t really drink coffee, wasn’t much for the taste and the caffeine would be out of his system four times faster anyway.

            “Hey,” Vick said, “You been up a while?”

            Steve paused, eyes darting around. “Yeah, just…laid around a while. Enjoyed the quiet.”

            “Mm,” Vick nodded, turning back to her coffee, unable to ignore the sudden flare of hope that sent her heart to thumping.

            “Was today our girl’s day out?” Pepper questioned, stretching. “We were going shopping, right?”

            “Shopping in Malibu?” Vick sighed. “Here, twist my arm.” Jane’s hand was halfway to her wrist when she said, “Uncle,” and chuckles ran round the room.

* * *

 

            “Hey,” Vick spoke up at lunch, “How do you know, when your boyfriend’s, you know, planning something?”

            Tasha cocked an eyebrow, her new fedora hat perched on her head. “What do you mean?”

            “Well…” Vick folded her hands together, shuffling the straps on her sundress as she shrugged her shoulders. “Steve and I’ve been together a while now, and I thought…him inviting me here, I was wondering if he’s going to, you know…”

            “You think he’s going to propose?” Pepper gasped.

            “I’m _hoping_ ,” Vick clarified, holding her hands up, “Cautiously optimistic.”

            “Have you talked about getting married?” Jane asked her, raising her eyebrows and leaning forward.

            Vick shrugged, taking another sip of her Sierra Mist. “I…we’ve sort of discussed it, kind of…daydreamed, almost, but we haven’t seriously entered into any sort of, agreement or anything. Bottom line is, I don’t know. He’s from a time where they didn’t really talk much about this; the menfolk just asked if they felt to it.”

            “You’re worried about bringing it up, then,” Tasha observed, wincing at the sun and digging for her shades.

            “I am,” she sighed. “Most of the time our…cultural differences really aren’t an issue. I’m a bit of an old soul myself, but when it comes to this.” She sighed again, pursing her lips. “I…I don’t know. I can understand why the prospect might seem a bit… _daunting_ , but all the more reason we should talk about it, you know?”

            The others nodded collectively, murmuring agreement.

            Vick put her drink down, determinedly. “I should talk to him.”

            “You should!” Pepper agreed. “Gently, of course, just bring it up, and I’m sure you two could have a really good talk about it.”

            Vick nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I…I think I will.”

            That night, after something delicious that Tony and Bruce tag-teamed (because cooking is _science_ ), they’re all sprawled out across the living room watching _Robin Hood_ because it was Clint’s turn to choose, and Vick was feeling fairly confident about the upcoming talk that she’d planned to bring up as soon as they turned in, which would probably soon judging by the way Steve was yawning and making the faces at the screen that meant he was confused.

            Vick ran through the script in her head once more before leaning over and cuddling up against Steve’s chest, smiling when he buried his nose in her hair and kissed her head. “You want to hit the hay?” he asked, and Vick nodded. “Cool. Let’s go, shall we?” Vick rose first, stretching and leading the way out with Steve trailing close after her, and Tony and Clint’s whistles not far behind.

            They’d learned not to mind them. Steve caught up to her and took her hand, smiling down at her and leading her off to the bedroom. _At least he’s learned sex is good,_ she thought, gnawing nervously on her lip (and that had taken a while, on account of The Cake, a long story for another time), but somehow this worried her even more. Because this was commitment, and promises, and rings, and she felt unconsciously up for the dog tag hanging around her neck to reassure and steel her spine before they were coming into the bedroom and he pushed the door shut behind them, stepping up close behind her and smoothing his hands down over her stomach.

            It felt good, but if she got pulled into sex (as great as that was) she’d never get the words out. So Vick placed her hands over his and gently tugged at them to pull them to stop, turning her face up to his. “Can we talk? There’s just a few things I wanted to say.”

            Immediately he looked nervous. Nevertheless, he let her go, and watched her sit on the mattress. Vick patted the spot beside her and Steve sat down, folding his hands and giving her his attention.

            She took a deep breath. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

            Steve stiffened almost immediately, everything going tense, and then relaxing slightly with an audible deep breath. “I…it depends on what you mean by that.”

            “You know what I mean, Steve,” she said, taking his hands. “Us, getting married.” He was silent. “Have you? Ever, really, seriously considered it? Because I think, we’ve been together for a while now, and I’d like to talk about moving on.”

            He pulled his hands free, turned to the side, looking almost…afraid, pursued. “I…aren’t you…are you not happy? With, where we are?”

            Vick deciphered his garbled chatter, before shaking her head, and placing her hand on his elbow, keeping the touch light. He still flinched. “I am. Just…I think…” she sighed, collected herself, and explained it the best way she knew how. “Marriage is a big step, Steve, meant to be something that binds you to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. In my mind we’ve been married months already, Steve. I know that you’re the one I want to be with until I die. And longer, God willing.” He gave her an anxious look, lips pursed, and didn’t stop her hand when it slid over his heart.

            After a long moment, he covered it with his own.

            “I…I know,” he said finally, softly. “I know all that. But…I’m still…I’m still an…an _Avenger_. I’m in danger. Constantly. So are you just by being with me, and I try not to think about that because then I’d never stop being scared, and…” he took a deep, shuddering breath, and said softly, “Clint…Clint told me that everyone with SHIELD either ends up alone, or divorced, or with someone else in the agency. Because people from the outside…civilians don’t always understand…they can’t…they don’t know. What it’s like, we’re, we’re _weapons_ , Victoria, and everyone else…they can’t always…”

            He gestured, helplessly, the gesture that meant _please understand,_ and usually it was fine but now it only made her inexplicably angry.

            “So you’re saying I don’t understand it’s dangerous?” she snapped.

            “No!” he cut her off, “No, no, that’s not what I mean-”

            “Well, how am I supposed to know?” she jabbed, “You explain it to me, then.”

            “I…” he closed his eyes tight, turned aside, mumbled, “I’m not good with words.”

            “You’re capable of _speech_ , aren’t you?” she muttered, something swirling hotly inside of her, something angry. “I can’t read your mind, Steven, believe it or not you have to tell me what you’re thinking sometimes. Are you afraid of commitment?”

            “No, Vick, I’m not, I’m just afraid that if we change the way things are it’s going to put an end to all of it.” The statement was met by a huge, horrible silence, sitting heavy between them like an elephant.

            “So you just don’t want to marry _me_?” her voice was cold, like she felt inside. She turned away from him, crossed her arms, tried to keep the tears pricking in her eyes at bay. “Fine. I understand if you feel like this relationship is running this course.”

            “Vick, no. That’s not what I meant.” There was the sound of Steve turning, reaching out for her and then letting his hand fall halfway between them. “I…I just don’t want to mess things up by changing what we have now.”

            Vick shook her head, hugged herself tightly. “You don’t need to change anything to mess some things up.” She stood suddenly, crossed the room to the door without sparing him a look. “I need a bit of space. I’ll sleep out in the living room tonight.”

            He got up behind her, swiftly strode to where she was just as she opened the door, and he sounded almost angry with her. “Vick, you can’t just walk out of this, we have to talk about it-”

            “We _did_ talk, Steve,” she spat over him, walking right out of the door, “You just didn’t like what I had to say.”

            She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

 

            Vick curled on the couch under a blanket from a closet JARVIS directed her to, but she couldn’t sleep. Her eyes didn’t slide shut until the wee hours of the morning, and she woke up a few hours later when the sun started to come up, more tired than she’d been the night before.

            Vick had started to sit up before she’d heard someone walking out of the back hall, had quickly lain back down and shut her eyes when they’d come out into the commons and opened the fridge once, closed it. She opened one eye warily, and saw it was Steve. He was wearing his leather jacket, looked tired as she was from the slump of his shoulders. She closed her eye when he started to turn again, heard the telltale crunch of an apple and his footsteps going out, a brief jangle of keys, and then the door was opening, and closing again. Gone.

            Vick threw the blanket off and slowly rose, stretching wearily. “Good morning, Ms. Gatsby,” said JARVIS, and Vick realized he must have been holding off speaking to either her or Steve to save them the unwanted conversation, and she made a mental note to talk Tony into an upgrade for his system or something. “Would you like water heated for coffee?”

            “Hell yes,” she sighed, abandoning her usual policy of not swearing in the morning, and shuffled into the kitchen to rifle through all the different kinds of coffee the cabinet was stocked with, finally deciding on a mocha blend that smelled oddly like espresso-laced easter eggs.

            Bruce was the next to emerge. He looked at her curiously, cocking his head almost like a puppy (or Steve) would and furrowing his eyebrows. “You look wrecked. Soldier not give you any rest?” he quirked an eyebrow, with a teasing smile.

            Vick sighed, and he must have seen her mood because the look fell away, replaced with a concerned one. “What’s wrong, Vick? What happened?”

            “Steve and I…” she winced, put her head on her hand and drinking from the mug (it really was good coffee, but she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy it now, everything tasted like ash). “Steve and I had a…disagreement last night.”

            “Really?” Bruce went to the coffeemaker and gave it an experimental sniff before pouring himself a cup. “You guys disagree quietly.” He sat across from her, looking concerned again. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?”

            “No,” she sighed. “Well…yes and no. I was…” she sighed. “I asked him if he’d ever thought about getting married before and he backed off like some scared animal, and then he tried to have me read his mind again…” she sighed again, decided she was probably annoying Bruce with all the sighing, and took another drink of the coffee. “And he…he just doesn’t want the same things I do. He wants to stay how we are now, and…I like it this way, too, but I’m not game to be his girlfriend forever. If that’s the way he’s going to keep being it’ll kill the relationship.”

            Bruce sipped from his mug. “How long would you give it?”

            “Three weeks, at best.”

            He sucked in a sharp breath. “Ouch.”

            “I heard relationship troubles,” said Tony, prancing (undoubtedly, up from the workshop) into the kitchen with his Black Sabbath shirt on over a pair of sweat pants, a smudge of grease smeared across his cheekbone. “Ooh, is that the English mocha I had? Smells amazing. I’ll get some for you. Anyway, relationship troubles.” After he’d poured himself a cup he slid in next to Bruce. “Talk to the master.”

            “Have you ever considered that maybe he didn’t mean that exactly?” Bruce pressed on, ignoring his science bro’s interjection, sipping quietly again at the mocha.

            Vick shrugged, eyebrows riding high on her forehead. “It’s exactly what he said, Bruce, what am I supposed to make of that?” she sighed, suddenly, downed the rest of the cup in one long chug and set it down on the counter, before turning and going for another. “Fuck if I know.”

            “No swearing in the morning!” protested Jane, staggering into the kitchen and searching blindly around her, arms flailing. “Coffee.”

            “Follow the sweet, melodious sound of my voice,” said Vick, and Jane shuffled obediently in her direction and was rewarded with a cup of coffee pressed into her hands. “Minibar’s over here, hon.” Jane set her cup on the counter and scooted up onto one of the padded red stools, reclaiming the mug and holding it close like something precious. “So what’s up with the morning swears, Great Midgardian Scribe? Be warned, by the way, Thor thinks you wrote _The Lord of the Rings_.”

            “Hm, I wonder why, was it the same person as told him that was the actual catalog of Midgardian history?” Vick cast a sideways eye at Tony, who sipped coolly at his coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Funny, I thought you were a genius,” Vick said, before Bruce offered, “Vick and Cap butted heads last night.”

            “Ugh, butting heads isn’t good. Knocking boots is much better. Unless you were doing both?”

            “No, just the heads,” Vick sighed.

            “Head is good.”

            “Tony!”

            “What? That was an easy jab, Gatsby, sorry if I was just the one to take it.”

            Vick massaged the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath before she attempted to speak again. “He doesn’t want to get married.”

            Jane’s brows drew together suddenly, and she asked “You didn’t try to bring it up with him, did you?”

            Vick nodded, sighing. “I did.”

            “Oh, Vick, we told you to-”

            “No, no, having that conversation was a decision I made. It needed to happen anyway.”

            “Still, I feel bad.”

            “Don’t,” Vick said, taking a sip of her mocha that rung with finality.

            “Has anyone noticed…?” Tony trailed off, suddenly, looking around their little table. “Guys, we’re like, the knights of the round table. But with science. The Fellowship…of the _Science.”_

            “Tony, are you ADD?” Vick broke in.

            “If I am my father never cared to take me in and get me tested.”

            Bruce sighed lightly and drank more coffee, going down for another mug.

            “Really though, we can invite Selvig if you want. The Fellowship of the Science. That sounds bitchin’, guys. That’s our new name. We’re an Avengers subgroup. The Fellowship…of the Science.”

            There was a loud crash announcing Thor’s arrival, as he arrived back from a nightly flyover of the city. “I heard mentions of a Fellowship!” he beamed, as if he had not just gone headlong through a glass window. “Great Scribe, the Man of Iron has told me your written histories are compounded into a series of visions! May we see them, perhaps?” He broke off and gave her puppy dog eyes.

            Tony looked to the other three, gaping. “Have I got crud in my ears, or did MC Hammer just suggest a Lord of the Rings marathon?”

            “Director’s cut,” Jane put in, without another word, and Bruce looked to the shattered window and sighed lightly. “Yeah, staying in actually sounds great today.”

* * *

 

            The opinion was shared throughout by everyone, and the morning was spent staking places in the little private theater Tony had with the giant screen but with the plushy couches and comfy chairs and plenty of floor space to build nests on (even an air duct for someone to sit in and still have a great view), and stocking food for their twelve-hour ordeal (self-inflicted, said Tony, so no bitching from anybody or they have to put on an elven dress and dance to Single Ladies). The first movie was rolling by ten, and everyone comfortably settled, snacks within reach.

            Steve came in maybe thirty minutes into _The Fellowship of the Ring,_ opening the door and quietly stepping inside. “Hey…guys?”

            The movie was somehow paused and everyone started talking at once, a chorus of “hey!” and “where have you been, Rocket Pop?” and “the Scribe is sharing with us her visions of the past!” Clint even hung upside down from the duct, and waved. “’Sup, Captain.”

            “Uh…” Steve blinked.

            “ _Lord of the Rings_ ,” Vick explained, waving at the screen. “Only a little after your time. You must’ve read _The Hobbit._ ”

            “-ten months to _Desolation of Smaug_ ,” added Tony, met with several whoops and fists to the air.

At that, he looked clarified. “Oh, oh yeah.” He looked around. “Hey, this looks great, and I’ll join you in a second…Vick, can I talk to you?”

Everyone looked at her. Vick looked to her hands, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you guys keep going. We won’t be long.”

            Vick followed him out of the room, listening to the sounds of Bilbo’s birthday speech fading out behind her as she shut the door. Steve was standing out in the hall, wringing his hands a little, and Vick sighed, couldn’t help but melt a little at the nervous way he looked at her, reminiscent of their first dates, first few weeks together.

            “What’s up, Steve?”

            “I…I did a lot of thinking. Out.” He swallowed, and beckoned her closer. She stepped warily, but suddenly he’d folded her up in a close hug, and she didn’t even have to think to give it back, just snuggle against him and close her eyes, bury her nose in his shirt and inhale deeply. “I realize we’re gonna have to move forward if we’re going to stay together. And I really, really like you Vick. I…I love you. And I only say that when I mean it.”

            “I know, Steve,” she murmured, “I know.”

            “So, I…I can talk about this,” he said, gulping, and if anyone in the word still gulped it was, of course, Steve Rogers. “Just…let’s take it slow. Because…I’m scared.”

            Vick had to resist the urge to snark: _Captain America, the first Avenger, afraid of a little gold ring?_ But resist it she did, squeezing his shoulders and pecking him on the cheek. “Okay, Steve. That’s all I need.”

            He sighed, visibly relieved. “Okay.” He drew back, took her hand and squeezed it gently, smiled. “Let’s go watch the movie.”

            “Yeah,” she said, quietly, smiling back and tugging him back inside, moving down to the little nest of blankets her more maternal instincts had coaxed her to build, and she snuggled against him and watched as the four hobbits ran from an irate Farmer Maggot.

* * *

 

            She really should have suspected something in hindsight when Tony gave her an old yearbook and vaguely told her, “Page 254,” before wandering off.

            Frowning, she turned to the page and scanned the names, cocking her head and lifting an eyebrow when she saw _Clint Barton._ Her eyes scanned to the left, looking for him in the photos, and stifled a sudden giggle.

            Apparently, Clint had worn a mullet in his younger days. She held in another huge snicker, but fell totally silent when she heard Tony murmuring just down the hall to Steve. “-really, Rogers, just look in her contacts. That’s not fancy. See, here it is.” There was a brief silence, a scribbling of pen on paper, and then Tony again, quieter, “Got it?” Steve gave a hum of affirmation, and Vick frowned, looking down to the photo again and closing the book, curiosity officially peaked.

            What truly made her laugh came a moment later, when Thor shuffled in and sat heavily down on the couch.

            “Why so mopey, Pikachu?” asked Vick, nudging the Norse god.

            “The Angry Green One has tried to tell me that the works of history in Midgard are false accounts.” He grumped. “And that you did not write them, Great Scribe.”

            Vick threw her head back and _guffawed._

* * *

 

            “Steve, you’re sure you’re okay?” Vick asked him, after he put his elbow in the butter dish for the second time.

            He’d been acting odd all day; more than odd. First he’d been distracted in the morning and tried to put on a _wool sweater_ (in Malibu! Why did he even _have_ a wool sweater in Malibu?), then he’d run into the wall walking to the bathroom, then he’d poured the coffee into a cup until the rim had overflowed and French roast had gone everywhere. And now, not one but two incidences of elbows in the butter.

            “Hmm?” he lifted his arm, swiped his napkin across his elbow, and looking to her with lifted eyebrows.

            “I said: are you okay, Steve?” she asked, slower.

            “Yeah, yeah,” he said, spooning up another bite of cereal and knocking himself in the jaw with it, missing his mouth and ending up scraping along his cheek instead.

            Vick frowned, and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He batted her away, murmuring, “No, no, I’m fine. Really.”

            “You don’t feel feverish,” she muttered, eyes narrowed as she peered at him. Steve nervously met her eyes, jammed the spoon into his mouth and swallowed without chewing. “I’m really fine, Vick. You should get ready.”

            She frowned at him, as he shoveled another bite into his mouth. “Ready? For what?”

            He raised his head, swallowed so rapidly he started to cough, and she pounded him on the back. “Clint and Natasha are taking you out for a spa day,” he said, as soon as he’d regained the ability to breathe.

            “They are?”

            “Yup. I’d get ready. I think it’s at eleven?”

            “Steve, what’s going on?”

            He kissed her briefly. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

            “What? Where are you going?”

            “Doesn’t matter, I’ll be back for dinner!” he smiled, waved and walked out the door. Moments later there was the roar of his motorcycle starting and careening out into the street, and Vick was still sitting at the breakfast table, confused.

* * *

 

            That day at the spa, Natasha was cool as ever and Clint looked positively giddy, nearly bouncing and grinning at her like he had a secret. Tasha smacked him frequently for this, but Vick just frowned, pressed her lips together and held her curiosity in check. Something was afoot.

            It kept the trip from being too relaxing, and Vick retreated almost immediately retreated after their return, to her room for some alone time. She ended up curled on Steve’s side of the bed, wearing his jacket, nose buried in his pillow that smelled like him. He’d brought it from New York; pillowcase and all, refused to sleep on anything else. He was a creature of habit, her Steve. Maybe she wasn’t trying hard enough.

            By the time he got back it was full dark; some had already drifted off to bed and others were lazing about watching _Inception_ (Bruce’s pick), though Vick doubted anyone really understood. When the door opened she looked to the clock, read 2:14 a.m. and frowned. He looked tired, she noted, as she trotted out into the foyer- tired, but happy. “Where did you go?”

            He shrugged. “Went off to chat with someone.”

            Vick blinked. “Must have been a long chat.”

            “Good one,” he said, with a smile, leaning down and kissing her head. Vick stood, confused, as he brushed past into the living room, arms folded still before her. _Today just keeps getting weirder and weirder._

            But she sighed, followed him out to the room and plunked onto the couch, closing her eyes to the confusing movie and laying her head back, only cracking one eyelid when she heard him murmuring, saw him close in confidence with Tony, heads bowed together. Tony’s eyes flickered her way, held her gaze for a moment before turning back to Steve and saying something that made him turn to her. Steve nodded once, said one more soft sentence, and then murmuring one intelligible “goodnight.” Tony nodded, turned and made down the hall for his and Pepper’s shared room. Vick opened her eyes to Steve’s approach, and didn’t protest when he picked her up, whispered “hey, sweetheart. You look tired.”

            “Clint,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and nestling her head against his shoulder.

            He chuckled softly. “I thought you were supposed to be relaxed.”

            “M’tired.”

            Steve just smiled, and kissed her forehead. “Then let’s get you to bed, okay?”

            “Mhm.”

* * *

 

            Vick was one of the last ones up the next morning. She shuffled out in a pair of jeans and an old, soft Navy tee, worn and well-loved. Rubbing her eyes, she mumbled a thanks when a cup of something familiar-smelling was pressed into her hands, and she realized when she drank it was the same espresso-easter-eggsy mocha she’d brewed before.

            “Bruce told me you liked this kind,” Steve said, and she offered him a smile, standing on toe for a kiss. “Morning, sunshine.”

            “Ugh,” groaned Clint. “PDA, PDA. Quit making out in the halls and get to class!”

            Vick stuck her tongue out at him, and promptly turned back for another kiss. “Morning.”

            She opened the cabinet, pulled the box of fudge poptarts that Thor never touched (he only liked the strawberry kind) and dropped two into the toaster, waited until they popped and pulled them onto a plate before shambling over to the minibar. “Muh.”

            “Somebody not sleep well?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

            “You’re one to talk, Stark,” she muttered, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen when she took the first bite of her breakfast.

            “Aww, don’t be a gwumpy paywnts,” he cooed.

            “And eat up,” added Clint, still wearing the shit-eating grin from the day before. Apparently, it still hadn’t been shaken yet. In fact, it only seemed to have widened. “It’s going to be a big, big, _big_ day!”

            Vick dropped her poptart, scowling. “What are you guys up to? You’ve been like little Catholic schoolboys with a secret the past few days.”

            “Jewish,” muttered Clint, giving her a dark scowl and resentfully drinking his coffee.

            “Jewish schoolboys.” Vick rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Point is, you’re hiding something.”

            “Shush, all in good time,” said Tony, grinning.

            Steve broke in above them all, clearing his throat. “So, everyone, we know the plans for today?” A sudden hush fell over the table. Vick swallowed quickly, just barely managing to not choke. “Plans for what? Guys, what’s going on? Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?”

            Several, at least, looked just as confused as she. Pepper was frowning and Jane had her lips pursed, and Thor was spinning a bagel around his finger, enraptured. “Didn’t I just say all in good time?” Tony piped, furrowing a disapproving eyebrow. “Anyway. I need to check numbers, Spanglepants, got a pen?”

            Steve nodded. “Mmhmmm, right here.” Vick scooted over to murmur to Natasha, and there was a sudden, collective hush when Steve hissed out a sudden curse and something fell with a _clink_.

            Vick turned, and her breath caught, eyes blowing wide.

            “Steve,” she said. “Why is there a ring.”

            There was silence, and she was sliding suddenly, sliding down onto her feet, panicking, trying to not hyperventilate and pass out on the floor but none of the oxygen was going to her head. “Steve why is there a ring.”

            Pepper had emitted a little gasp and clapped her hand over her mouth, Thor had finally ceased his bagel-twirling, and with the sudden silence Clint, Tony, and Bruce had extracted themselves from their little conversation, and the only proffered word from the three: “Fuck.”

            Steve scrabbled for the little circle of metal, cursed again when it fell on the floor and he went down after it. He stayed down, propped himself up on one knee and took her hand, squeezing it once and looking deep into her eyes. “Victoria Gatsby,” he said, and Pepper squeaked faintly. “-will you,” he swallowed, hard. “Will you marry me?”

            Silence. Dead silence. Which usually wasn’t a good sign, even when you weren’t proposing. Which he was. Proposing. To her. As in _marriage_. Oh, her head felt faint. “I…I gotta go,” she said, breaking out of the kitchen, stumbling down the hall, falling on the door, opening it somehow, breaking into a run. Away, away down the bluff.

* * *

 

            Vick went all the way down to the shore, still in her tee and jeans, barefoot, stumbling over the sand until she found an alcove in the cliff the house sat on and curled inside of it, burying her face in her knees and refusing to think. She blocked the world out in the crash and roar of the surf.

            It felt like years, but it was only hours later when the sound of someone approaching found her and she pressed closer to the rocks. “Vick?” Steve, of course. Who else? “Vick, can we…are you here? Please, I…I’ve looked everywhere else. Vick?”

            She lifted her head in the slightest, peeked out and caught a glimpse of his back, shoulders slumped helplessly out to the surf. She hesitated, then slowly she emerged. “Hey, Steve.” Her voice was barely a murmur, sounded almost a little scratchy, but as soon as it’d left her mouth he spun around in a whirlwind, kicking sand up and looking like he wanted to run to her and wrap her up in his arms, but he froze and then fell into his earlier pose. “Hi, sweetheart.”

            Vick rubbed her forearm, opened her mouth, closed it. Steve stepped slowly closer, put his hands on her shoulders and drew her closer. “Vick-”

            Suddenly she was babbling, “-bad idea, Steve, no, I mean I wanted it but now that you want to that’s scaring me because what if it doesn’t work, and I get how you felt before, because what if I just fuck everything royally up and then I never see you again and I have to  deal with the knowledge for the rest of my miserable life that I had something as wonderful as you and then I lost you and I’ll only write depressing shit like Edgar Allan Poe-”

            Steve squeezed her shoulders, dug his thumbs lightly into her clavicles, rubbing reassuring circles. “Vick, take a breath. Now let it out. Breathe.”

            She sucked in a breath, let it out, shaky.

            Steve frowned, reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ears. “Why would marrying you be such a bad idea?” he reached out, held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. “I love you, and I want to be happy with you. We’ve been together these nine months-”

            “Being married is _different_!” her voice cracked and she had to bury her face in her hands before she cried, and too late, she was crying.

            Steve held her, rocked her slowly and kissed her forehead, carded through her hair, until she’d finished sniffling into his shirt, and simply allowed herself to be held.

            “I didn’t _mean_ to just spring it on you like that,” he told her. “I had a whole thing planned for the end of the week. There was going to be a full moon and clear skies, so I’d thought to take you out on the bluff. Candles and everything. Moonlight picnic, you know? It was all very romantic. But…the ring rolled out and I went with it.” He heaved a sigh, smiled and petted her hair. “And I think I did okay, considering the circumstances.”

            She sniffled into his chest. “You did.”

            He couldn’t help a little chuckle. “It wasn’t so great, though, you running out of the room with everyone else there after I _proposed._ ”

            “Yeah. Guess my reaction needs a bit of work, eh?” Then, suddenly, a watery laugh. “I…guess we had a role reversal there. First I wanted to get married; now you want to get married-”

            “And you don’t?”

            Vick broke off, blinked a little, said, stunned: “I…I do.”

            Steve smiled, cleared his throat for her to step back, and pulled the ring again out of his pocket before getting down on his knee in the sand, taking both her hands into one of his huge calloused palms, squeezing lightly, opened his mouth-

            “Wait,” Vick blurted, squeezing her eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths, and then opening them again. “Okay. Go.”

            “Victoria Gatsby,” he said again, and she had to cover her mouth, smile curling hugely behind it. “I…had an entire speech, but I forgot it. Will you marry me?”

            She half-sobbed, half-laughed, fell down to her knees with him on the sand, linking her arms around his neck and whispering, “Yes, yes, yes, _yes_.”

Vick Gatsby had always had a way with words. There was a way to explain everything, she believed, believed so many things like the plainest words being the finest. Maybe that was how she had come to love Steve Rogers, because they shared that common spirit, even if he couldn’t even explain what it was, even if everything else was different. Perhaps she’d come to love him because he _couldn’t_ be explained, not with her words. Steve was built to endure, to face the ages and never change, and everything about him remained the same. Steve was still baffling, as baffling as the day they met, and maybe she was okay with that. Maybe she was content to let her feelings swirl and take shape- like images of them, old, sitting together in the park on the same bench he’d asked her to their first date; pictures of crayon drawings on the fridge, finger paintings taped proudly to walls and cheerful red lunch boxes on the counter.

There were no words for those feelings. Maybe that was all right. It was strange and a little bit frightening, but damn it, she was going to _marry_ Steve Rogers. She was going to be Mrs. Victoria Rogers. A bright peal of laughter bubbled up at the realization, and they held onto each other, and laughed and cried and had their moment, before they’d have to face everyone else. And the wedding plans.

Shit, she’d forgotten all about the planning part.


End file.
